


Hanging On Your Every Word

by leccymeter



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Cordison, F/F, but it's pretty flexible, cordelia is obsessed with madison and hates herself enough to give, i pictured this in coven verse/before coven, madison takes whatever she wants as always, no smut but it's heavily Implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-03 06:52:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leccymeter/pseuds/leccymeter
Summary: "It's a tragic thing, the longing for something so completely irrational. She wonders, briefly, if there is some other distant dimension; an alternate reality where Madison gives herself to her entirely. But that doesn't matter; in this reality, Madison will never be hers. She never fails to let Cordelia know it."





	Hanging On Your Every Word

Propping herself up on a still-shaky elbow, Cordelia regards Madison, who is posing in the mirror of the vanity. One dainty hand grips the edge of the varnished surface, the other holds her phone up paralleled to the glass in that way Cordelia has seen her do many times before. A petite hip juts out to round out the curve of her ass, and dirty blonde tresses flip this way and that as she tries for the perfect angle. _Selfies_ , they called them. Cordelia had never really bought into the phenomena, couldn’t imagine an instance where someone would care enough to see her face - herself included. Only in this selfie, Madison is wearing exactly zero items of clothing, and Cordelia’s mouth goes dry as a plethora of scenarios flood her brain. Again, the blissful bubble of togetherness they once shared has been popped so soon, so carelessly, leaving her to hang limply in the air where pathetic hands claw in desperation for perhaps one of the most lusted-after young women in America. It’s a tragic thing, the longing for something so completely irrational. She wonders, briefly, if there is some other distant dimension; an alternate reality where Madison gives herself to her entirely. But that doesn’t matter; in this reality, Madison will never be hers. She never fails to let Cordelia know it.

“Do you actually…send those to people?” Cordelia asks like she doesn’t know the answer already, and she resents the way her voice betrays her, vocal chords tangling and knotting around the words. The answer hasn’t left Madison’s mouth yet, and it already swirls rancid in the pit of Cordelia’s stomach. She bites down the urge to gag. To her dismay, the younger blonde takes a good few beats to answer, like she has all the time in the world - and she does. Like she _knows_ the not knowing has bile rising and scorching at the back of her throat. Cordelia is about to repeat her question when she finally shoots her a slack response in the shape of a sigh, eyes never straying from her reflection.

“What else would I do with them?” It’s rather a biting condescention than a question. Her posture straightens as she flicks through the pictures and the cold luminescence of the phone screen lights up her features, drawing out the sharp angles of her jaw and the hollow beneath her cheekbones. It makes her look even more terrifying. Cordelia doesn’t probe any further, only swallows the revulsion down her sandpapery throat and retreats back under the covers.

Like a sniffer dog, Madison smells the mortification in the air, tosses her phone blindly into the sea of white sheets and slinks up the bed to her prey. Straggly blonde extensions provide a curtain around Cordelia's face as she dips her head down, and dark eyes with blown pupils stare up at her, stare at her rosy lips, still swollen from previous attention. Madison kisses her, sticks her tongue in her mouth way too soon, but Cordelia welcomes the wet heat like it's the last drop of water in the goblet. She glides the tip of her own tongue against it meekly, closes her eyes and imagines a way there could be mutual feeling in this, somewhere. Should she have had more time, Cordelia would've linked her arms around her neck to keep her closer, but the younger blonde is gone in a flash no slower than how she had appeared. She's back at the foot of the bed now, wiggling into her shorts and smirking at the headmistress like she knows something she doesn't.

“It took way too much effort to make you cum - I’m fucking starving now.” There’s no need for a question when Cordelia knows exactly what she’s asking for. The tips of her ears burn hot, a bright pink, and her tongue becomes a dead weight in her mouth as she toys with the idea of growing a backbone and refusing Madison the money. She doesn’t need it, she tells herself. _She wants to take from you, because she knows you will give_. _You are a nothing but a convenience_. The challenging thought is short lived, because reality kicks in and she thinks about how insufferable Madison Montgomery is when she doesn’t get what she wants.

“My purse is on my desk.” In her head, the words had been deadpan. Out loud, they come out honey-sweet, gliding satiny on the swoop of her lisp. It’s disgusting, really. Madison is already knuckle-deep into her wallet before she can finish her sentence, and Cordelia rises from her bed, disappears into her en-suite to scour the repulsive grime of shame from her skin under the sanctifying rain of the shower.


End file.
